


these are the things, the things we lost the things we lost in the fire fire fire…

by acesassinated



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25928410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acesassinated/pseuds/acesassinated
Summary: A Lityerses angst fic (sort of?) with a bit of Litpollo thrown in *wiNk wOnk*
Relationships: Apollo/Lityerses (Percy Jackson)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	these are the things, the things we lost the things we lost in the fire fire fire…

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mad_chesh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mad_chesh/gifts).



> Once again, I have used lyrics as the title. Clownery and brain celln’t 100 😔  
> I wrote this really late and I didn’t reread to edit because I’m here for a good time, not a long time so apollogies for any grammatical errors.

They wait for him. Every time he opened his notebook. Those words stared at him, jet black ink against a faded yellow background. Words no one except him will ever see. Words that he’ll never get a chance to show to the person who managed to capture his heart. 

Tentatively, he trailed his hand along the sheets, silently mouthing the words. 

_ Dear lord Apollo if only you knew how much I love you. Your smile, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, the way you’re always ready with a hug and reassurances. I love you. I love you so much. And you’ll never know. _

_ Do you ever miss Greece after you and your family moved to America? I wonder how different things are. It’s been hard to adjust to the modern world but I think I’m getting the hang of things. We could always go back. To Greece I mean. Together. Maybe Calypso too.  _

_ Winter’s here and it’s so cold! The snow is very pretty though, I’ll give it that. Not so fun when you get hit in the face with it. Gah I miss your warmth. Spring can’t come soon enough. _

_ Leo introduced me to some of the music people from this time. They’re so strange but also very catchy? I don’t know. Sweater Weather reminds me of you  _

_ Oh Apollo I never thought I would ever cry on your birthday. Abelard died. We held his funeral at noon. I’m sorry. I wish I could say something more but I really can’t. Not right now. Maybe not ever. I’m going to miss him so much.  _

And so much more.

The tears were staining the pages before he even realized he was crying. He angrily slammed the book shut, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. 

_ Stop. God dammit Lityerses, you really are as pathetic as your old man said. He left. He fucking left and he’s not coming back anytime soon. It’s been years. STOP IT. _

He glanced at the clock next to him, doing a double take when he realized what time it was. 2:34 a.m. already. Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he stood up with the book in hand, grabbing a nearby matchbox on his way out of his room. 

Thankfully no one was up and about. Sneaking out was easy enough. Now for the hard part. Squaring his shoulders, he walked on, not daring to look back lest he changed his mind. Which is something he definitely doesn’t need. Not right now. 

_ Don’t do this. You’re going to regret it later.  _ The voice in the back of his mind whispered. 

_ Shut up.  _ He thought back. 

There.

He sped up, almost breaking into a run. The cold air stung his face, making opening the door practically impossible. After what felt like an eternity of fumbling with the knob, he finally got the damned thing to open. He rushed inside, slamming the door behind him and flooding his surroundings in complete darkness.

Not for much longer. 

Reaching in his pocket for the matchbox, he struck the side of it with trembling fingers. The little flame came to life, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Perfect. 

Flipping open the book, he tore out a page and placed the edge of it into the fire. 

One after the other. It soon became a pattern he could accomplish without much thought. Tear out a page, crumple it up, and toss to the flames. The notebook steadily became lighter and lighter until there was nothing left. All of the memories, gone. 

_ Are you happy now?  _ The voice was back.  _ Are you proud of what you’ve accomplished? _

No.

NO!

The full realization of what he had done dawned on him like a painful slap to the face. The notebook fell, forgotten to the cement with a dull thud. With a cry of horror and regret, Lityerses lunged at the fire, grasping at the fragile pieces beyond saving. 

He sank to the floor, his body shaking with sobs. There the Son of Midas sat, the pitiful remnants of his memories cupped in his hands. Nothing. He had nothing now. 

And it was all his fault. 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m kind of salty that I managed to write this one shot in less than two hours after I started at an ungodly hour of the night and yet I can’t write (2) cohesive sentences during the day. Wait. No. Scratch that. I’m not just “kind of” salty eye am *very* salty


End file.
